


Offer

by SerpentineTraveler



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Also about mourning, Gen, Lambert is a presence but not actually there?, Mini Fic, The character death is not on screen nor is it described, This Is Sad, dudes I only enjoy writing mini fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28858713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineTraveler/pseuds/SerpentineTraveler
Summary: The last two wolven Witchers meet up and share no words.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Kudos: 13





	Offer

Roach plodded steadily on, to the soft clinking one bottles jostling together. He’d raided Regis’ mandrake hooch stores in preparation for this.

(Regis had been...not happy, per se, in light of the circumstance, but for lack of another word, happy to provide. Hopeful It might ease the burden, at least for a little while.)

Rising over the ridge, he spotted a dark shape, slumped on the hillside. 

The white haired Witcher had appeared stoic up until this point, despite various attempts to get him to face his own emotions. But with Eskel he couldn’t keep up the facade. It felt truly over, in a way the letter could never express. And as he approached the crouched figure, his face crumpled. Not crying, he wouldn’t cry, neither of them would, but it was a broken expression, hollowed out like the world had ended. 

Scorpion was tethered to a tree nearby, with an extra set of Witchers swords seemingly innocuously strapped to his side. 

Coming up behind Eskel, Geralt takes a bottle out of Roach’s pack, and sets it in the grass next to him. An offering. A sign of shared grief.

Sad golden eyes meet their mirror and no words are necessary. The two sit in silence as the sun sets, leaning heavily on the other.

Come morning there are two crossed swords stabbed into the ground, glinting with golden sunlight. And a wolf’s head medallion swinging gently in the morning breeze.


End file.
